What’s on my mind? RAGE.


White hot rage that melts the hardened material that swallowed my ancestors one by one.
It is bubbling up, searing soft tissue, digging raw, bloody canyons as it creeps up my throat erupting in hot air in my mouth. I taste it when I breathe and spit the bile out. Now my shoe shines in the sunlight while the concrete erupts with loud, raucous laughter. 
“Did you birth me?”
My shout echoes from exhaust stained walls, the paint peeling from it.
A loud cracking noise. My purse vomited its contents and now the pills the doctor gave me have mixed together with the sharp shards of the shattered pill bottle. But they’re mine and I need them. 
There’s no time to waste. Time waits for no man, not so?
I hear quiet, sneaking footsteps. These are my pills.
“Mine.”
The walls whine back at me, but I have no time to scold, no time to correct behaviour. I scrape the pills off the rough concrete, feeling the pinch of broken glass as it slices my roughshod hands.
Rage sustains me. Pinches and cuts, fuck that.
My head falls back as I swallow the contents of my palm and the sweetness of my rage wraps itself around pain so I cannot feel. It drags me down… down… we are one.